


Snippets

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Beginnings, Blind Date, Breathplay, Celebrations, Chocolate Frogs (Harry Potter), Daddy Kink, Edging, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Family Loss, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, Gen, Herbology, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Honeydukes, Hurt/Comfort, Imagination, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marks, Movie Night, Muggle Culture, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Operas, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyjuice Potion, Pregnancy, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Runes, Secrets, Severus is Thirsty, Short Shorts, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Smoking, Songfic, Spitroasting, Stillbirth, Studying, Tattoos, Time Travel, Toddlers, Vegetarians & Vegans, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 19,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: A collection of drabbles, plot bunnies, and little bits of intrigue that manage to escape my mind starring a myriad of the Harry Potter crew.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Harry Potter, Daphne Greengrass/Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Alastor Moody/Arthur Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Fenrir Greyback, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Lavender Brown/Fenrir Greyback, Lavender Brown/Fenrir Greyback/Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 52
Kudos: 179





	1. La Vie Boheme (Various)

“I honestly can’t believe I let you drag us to this restaurant.” Pansy said, glancing over the menu with a frown on her face before staring disdainfully at her water. The usually innocuous liquid was presented in a plastic glass, likely drawn from the tap, and had a lemon wedge floating in it. While she had certainly mellowed out in recent years, there was nothing quite like a bottle of sparkling water chilled to the perfect temperature to tantalize the tastebuds. 

“This was the only place that could accommodate all thirteen of us on such short notice.” Hermione commented, ignoring Pansy’s petulant huff. “And besides, Daphne wanted something vegan… our options were a bit limited”

Draco touched his finger to Hermione’s menu, the silver band of his signet ring flashing in the too bright light reflecting off of the myriad of white surfaces in the minimalist restaurant. His other hand rested against her back, idly tracing the sequence of runes with which she was so familiar. “The miso soup is excellent.” He remarked.

“I’m actually thinking about the seaweed salad.” She muttered, slipping her hand into his and tucking them both under the table to rest against her thigh.

“You two have been here before?” Pansy questioned, taking a tentative sip of her sure-to-be-disgusting water. She wasn’t disappointed, it left a lot to be desired. 

“We try new restaurants every Thursday.” Hermione remarked, her eyes still skimming over the menu. 

Pansy pursed her lips, eyeing the couple next to her as she pushed the offensive liquid as far away as she could get until it was nearly touching Harry’s own glass of water. “But you’ve been back together for nearly two years.” 

With his signature smirk, Draco confirmed, “We are fully aware of the length of our relationship, Pansy. London has a plethora restaurants but we’ve also been to several on the continent.” 

“Oh, just rub it in, will you?” Pansy groaned, her hand swiping across the space in front of her as though it were passing over a marquee. “Filthy rich heir courts brightest witch of the age by using possibly illegal portkeys just to have dinner.” 

“There was nothing illegal. I just happened to join Draco on a few business trips for the company.” Hermione said with a smile that said she wasn’t telling the entire truth while Draco squeezed her hand under the table.

Pansy shot them both a scowl and studied her menu with a frown.

Ron leaned over towards Harry, looking at the menu just as skeptically as Pansy. He lowered his voice so only the raven-haired wizard could hear as he lifted the menu to cover his mouth to be extra certain no one could hear him as he asked the all-important questions, “What are tofu dogs?” 

Harry’s bright emerald eyes widened from behind his black-rimmed glasses as he skimmed the menu. “I’m more concerned about the meatless balls…”

“Oh bollocks. That’s a thing?” Ron hissed in a whispered exclamation.

Harry nodded, pointing to the entrée in question while Ron released a not-so-subtle groan.

“Oi! Daph.” Ron called out, getting the blonde bombshell’s attention from where she was seated down the long table near Tracey Davis, Luna Lovegood, and Theodore Nott. 

With her loose, honey toned waves bouncing around her shoulders, she turned and looked at the redheaded wizard. “Yes, Ronald?”

“What will I like?” He asked, having heard of exactly one item on the menu, though why they called them _fries_ and not _chips,_ he’d never know.

With a petulant roll of her eyes, she glanced down at the menu for just a moment trying to choose something to his tastes. That honestly left out most of the menu so the choice wasn’t particularly difficult. “Get a soy burger and some fries.” 

He narrowed his eyes, looking at a non-moving photograph something that looked suspiciously like a hamburger. He liked those, but whatever _soy_ was made him think he was about to eat something rubbery and entirely too chewy. “What is that?”

“Trust me,” was all the witch said before turning back to her conversation.

The thirteen friends had come out on a very rainy and dismal evening to celebrate the twenty fifth birthday of Daphne Greengrass who was adamant that she didn’t want a party but of course changed her mind at the last moment and decided everyone should go out to dinner. They had squeezed into a local vegan joint at the last minute which happened to have a cancellation, though Ginevra may have used a mild and very covert _Suggestion Spell_ in order to get their party seated more quickly. 

They were positioned around several small tables which had been pushed together to form one long table. Daphne sat at the head of the table, in the position of honor with Theodore Nott to her left and Tracey Davis to her right. Next to Theodore was Luna Lovegood followed by Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and then finally Neville Longbottom. Across from Neville, Draco Malfoy sat next to Hermione Granger. Between Hermione and Tracey were Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Lavender Brown.

The server arrived and began making her away around the table, taking everyone’s order. She paused next to Daphne and confirmed the order, “So, that’s five miso soups, four seaweed salads, three soy burger dinners, two tofu dog platters, and one pasta with meatless balls.” 

Blaise swallowed thickly, making an exaggerated, disgusted noise. “Eww.”

Lavender smacked the dark, Italian wizard on the arm. “Shush. It tastes the same.” She chided in a low, threatening tone in an effort to limit the offense he might cause with the server in such close proximity.

“If you close your eyes, maybe.” Blaise muttered under his breath. 

“Oh, and thirteen orders of fries.” The server said, making a note on the pad in her hand. “Is that it here?” 

“Wine and beer, please.” Daphne added. “A few bottles of reds, whites, and a selection of your house lagers, ales, and stouts. I think that should tide us over for a bit.” 

When the drinks were poured and everyone held a glass of something, Theo rose from his seat at the table, smiling fondly on the honeyed blonde at his side. “If someone should make a toast on this gorgeous girl’s birthday, it’s the fiancée, am I right?”

Everyone chuckled as Theo shot a pointed look towards Ron whose ears turned pink as he stood up, holding a glass of what appeared to be a very dark beer. Ron smiled a goofy grin towards the blonde witch at the head of the table while Theo took his seat with a cheeky smirk on his lips. “Everyone knows I’m shite with words, but I honestly don’t know how I got so lucky to have landed the girl of my dreams.” 

An exaggerated cough that sounded altogether too much like “drunk closet sex” erputed from deep within Blaise’s throat, gaining him yet another smack on the arm from Lavender who chided him to behave. As the group erupted into laughter at the exchange, Ron turned a shade of red a bit closer to that of his hair.

“Give a bloke a break!” He groaned, running a hand through his crimson locks. Daphne smiled at him encouragingly as she swirled a dark red wine around the bell of the glass. “Daph, I love you more than life itself and I hope to be around to help you celebrate your birthdays for a very, very long time.”

Ron raised his glass in a toast before walking around the table to stand next to the woman in question, his muscled arm coming to rest around her delicate shoulders. “To the future Mrs. Daphne Weasley! Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Glasses clinked, friends cheered, and sips of several different alcoholic beverages were taken as the group celebrated their friend. Ron pressed a kiss to Daphne’s cheek before returning to his seat between Harry and Neville where they soon launched into a discussion along with Draco on the latest quidditch game where the Montrose Magpies played the Appleby Arrows.


	2. Insomnia (DM/HG)

He moved the brush over the canvas in wide strokes, creating large swathes of blue to mingle and meld with the already present oranges and yellows. Blending the colors together, he created a perfect display of the rising sun as he saw it through the window of the balcony on which he sat. A cigarette sat burning in a tray nearby, his chest was bare, and the sheet he was wrapped in covered more of the floor than it did his body, though no one would be able to see him anyway. 

They lived in the middle of fucking nowhere, after all.

Taking a drag from the cigarette, he flicked the ash to the ground and blended several colors on his palate to create the shade of indigo needed to finish off the sky before he dotted it with the fading stars which could still be seen at sunrise. 

A pair of arms encircled his torso, fingers dragging lightly down one of the many scars on his chest in a gentle, caressing motion. The scar being traced was one of several old injuries from his days at school, though surprisingly, it wasn’t inflicted by his own father. One of the few which were not. 

A set of soft lips caressed the back of his neck as he carefully blended the pigments together on the canvas weaving together the colors needed to capture a perfect dawn morning as best he knew how. 

“I thought you had to work today?” the familiar feminine voice crooned before capturing the lobe of his ear between her perfect, straight, white teeth. 

He grunted, leaning over to the ashtray to knock a bit more ash from the tip of his cigarette before taking another drag. “They don’t give a fuck if I show up or not. They never have and they won’t until the inevitable happens.” 

He could tell she was frowning behind him by the way her teasing caresses stopped and her posture drooped. She leaned against him, bare breasts pressed into his back and set her chin atop his shoulder, a few wild curls brushing against his skin causing him to shiver despite the relatively warm spring air. “When does he retire?”

The absolute last thing he wanted to talk about was his father. “Not now.” He warned, with a growl stubbing out the cigarette and flicking it haphazardly into the tray before putting his brush back against the canvas.

With a resigned sigh, she pressed a tender kiss to the curve of his neck, knowing better than to push him at this time of the morning, especially about an already nearly taboo topic such as his father. As he exhaled the last of the smoke from his lungs, she could smell the whiskey mixed with the harsh smell of his cigarette and her suspicions were confirmed. 

He may have come to bed with her in the evening, but he was up again after she fell asleep and he was likely still drunk. While sometimes practiced his art while sober, it was a much more common occurrence when he was intoxicated. The cigarettes too. 

Pressing another kiss to the back of his neck, she pulled back from him, allowing him to mope and brood in peace. There was practically nothing she could do for him when he got like this. It was simply something he needed to ride out until the alcohol burned out of his system and he either sought her out or fell asleep on his own. 

Apart from her warm heat withdrawing from his slightly chilled body, the only reason he knew she had indeed wandered off was the whisper of her silk knickers against her skin growing fainter. 

Given that the sun was still just peeking over the horizon, he suspected she slipped beneath the duvet and back into their bed to resume her slumber. Sleep was something to be coveted and something he desperately wanted, but there were days when it simply wouldn’t come. Like today. 

He blended several shades together until he found the iridescent gray he was looking for and began to dot the painted sky with tiny stars until they formed the familiar constellation which shared his namesake. After that, he set his brush to the side and stared at the painting for several moments before standing up from the small, wooden stool to lean over the balcony.

Resting his forearms against the cool stone, he stared out across the grounds of their estate. The gardens were to his right, having been meticulously laid out by a very dear friend. The flower gardens were just beginning to come into bloom, though several magical varieties had already shown their colors over the past several weeks.

Of those he could make out in the early dawn, tiny sprigs of dittany were interspersed with the brilliant purple blooms of aconite while mounds of brilliant yellow snakeweed bloomed nearby. The valerian blossomed near the reclusive belladonna while the bobotubers were sequestered in their own corner of one of the gardens near the shrivelfigs. It was truly a work of art. 

Raking his fingers through his shock of blonde hair, he tugged at the sheet, keeping it firmly around his waist as he half-walked and half-stumbled back into the bedroom. He leaned against one of the large, mahogany posts of their bed and gazed upon the form of his wife who had fallen back to sleep.

Chocolate colored curls were fanned out around her head in some sort of beautiful, wild halo as though she were a spirit of the earth. The golden hue of her skin contrasted pleasantly with the stark whiteness of their bedding. Her limbs were akimbo as though she had landed that way by mere chance while her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He could just make out the dusky rose of her nipples from where they peaked out from beneath the duvet. 

Releasing the sheet, he slipped beneath the duvet and wrapped himself around his wife, finding perfection in the way she fit against him as though she were made for him and him alone. She stirred in her sleep as his hands settled onto her abdomen while one of her legs slipped back between his. She pressed herself back against him and he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck. The quiet murmur she hummed told him she wasn’t quite as asleep as she appeared to be. 

Burying his face against the smooth skin of her neck where he could just catch the scent of her curls, he apologized. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, love.” 

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, Draco.” She whispered, her voice rough with sleep, in the quiet of the early morning as one her hands shifted to trace gentle patterns along his forearm in the shape of runes.

“That doesn’t excuse my behavior.” He countered, drawing his lips along the curve of her neck. 

“No, but I forgive you.” She said, humming a soft, pleasurable sound as his lips nuzzled against her sensitive flesh. 

One of his hands slid up her torso, a single fingernail dragging along her skin before he cupped one of her breasts in his hand. “I’m still not going into work.” He said, rolling her pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a moan from the witch in his arms.

“It’s only for two more weeks.” She muttered, arching her back. “The you’ll have the company to yourself.”

While his thumb and forefinger continued to roll and tweak the sensitive nub, his other hand drifted down her abdomen with the tips of his fingers just fluttering over her flesh before dipping just below the waistband of her silk knickers. “Two more weeks, my precious wife and I will be free.”

Slipping her leg from between his, she shifted it so it fell over both of his legs, spreading herself wide for his wandering fingers. She felt his predatory grin at the back of her neck just before his fingers dipped into her folds, just brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex. 

“Gods, Draco,” she keened as he slipped a finger within her silken heat, his thumb tracing featherlight circles around her clit, his other hand coming to rest just at the base on her neck, keeping her pressed tightly against his chest. 

“I need you, Hermione.” He whispered against her neck, slipping another finger into her as he started a gentle rhythm, dragging the tips of his fingers against her walls as they curled within her, knowing she would soon be beginning for release.

The feel of his teeth digging into the flesh of her shoulder coupled with the sensations his fingers were eliciting as they gently pressed against her collar and dove and dipped within her was nearly too much to bear. “I’m yours.” She managed in a shaky breath as he brought her just to the edge. 

“Tell me, sweet wife.” He commanded gently, holding her just on the cusp of her orgasm, laving and nipping at the sensitive flesh of her neck. 

She whined and whimpered against his ministrations, her hips moving against his fingers, imploring them to go deeper, to touch her in just the right way, to bring her over the edge and into the oblivion she very nearly craved. He did not give in, opting to continue to tease her. She mumbled something incoherently. 

He stopped all together, holding his fingers still inside of her while two fingers pinched one of her overstimulated nipples between his fingers and she whimpered much loudly than before. “I need to hear you say it, love.” 

“Fuck, Draco.” She whined, “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to banish you to your study for a week.” 

He chuckled, low and dark. “You wouldn’t dare, Hermione.” He said as he withdrew his fingers from her throbbing cunt, pressing them against her lips. 

“I would.” She challenged just before her tongue darted out to taste herself and he slipped his fingers into her mouth as he positioned himself over her. She lapped at and suckled his fingers, moaning at the taste of her arousal.

Grasping his erection, he positioned himself at her entrance, slipping just the head between her folders causing her to whimper once more as he slowly withdrew his fingers from her mouth. “You know what happens to cheeky witches, my sweet.” 

She pushed her hips against him, tempting him to slip further into her, though he made no move to do so. How he relished teasing her like this when he knew she was desperate for release. Though he would never deny her, he enjoyed watching her fall apart beneath him with such intensity that words she would never utter outside of their bedroom fell from her lips. 

“Please”, she moaned as his fingers strayed to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“You beg so prettily, my sweet wife.” He praised, slipping into her tight, burning channel in one swift motion before lifting one of her legs to rest against his shoulder. He pressed kisses down her ankle, nipping at the flesh of her calf as he slowly began to rock his hips. 

The beautiful witch beneath him moaned and keened as he brought her once again to the edge, words spilling over her lips as she fisted the sheets in her hands. One of his hands snaked into her hair, grasping and tugging at her curls and soon she was falling over the edge as she drove himself into her. He felt every pulse, tremble, and contraction of her walls as he sent his witch into oblivion as waves of pleasure wracked her body. There was nothing sweeter than hearing the sound of his name on her lips as she came undone. 

A few strokes later, he thrust into her for a final time, releasing his seed within her with a groan of pleasure. He stayed inside of her for a moment, his tired body resting against her small frame as her hands came up to stroke his back with tender caresses. She drew swirls, runes, and words of adoration across the flesh of his back, lulling him to sleep with gentle words and sweet, sensual kisses against the corner of his mouth, the curve of his cheek, and the line of his jaw.

As he nuzzled against his wife, still half-drunk from the alcohol he had consumed, he silently thanked the gods for the woman in his arms. “Please don’t leave me.” He whispered against her curls, revealing one of his deepest fears in a rare moment of vulnerability.

His witch ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him. “Never, my love. We’re bound to one another, remember?” 

He nodded against her in a sleepy haze, feeling her contentment and love as she pushed her emotions towards him through their bond. “I love you.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.” 

Pressing her lips against his forehead, she continued her gentle caresses, trailing her fingertips along his spine. “I’m not going anywhere, Draco.” She reassured him. “I love you.” 

With his witch in his arms, and thoroughly sated, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks.


	3. Movie Night (DM/HG)

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before!” Hermione exclaimed as she passed the large bowl of heavily buttered popcorn across the gap between the sofa and a large, leather chair to Pansy. Though it almost escaped her grasp, Pansy managed to keep ahold of the bowl and not fall over the arm of the chair. Luckily, Neville had her firmly grasped around the waist ensuring that the witch wouldn’t fall face first into the worn wooden floors. 

“Granger.” Pansy admonished before popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth while Neville dug his hand into the bowl. “I’ve seen a grand total of four muggle movies.” 

Hermione gestured at the screen a bit too enthusiastically as the opening credits played. “But still, this is an absolute classic.”

“You said that about the last movie we watched, ‘Mione.” Harry tossed back a few chocolate-covered raisins before Theo stole the box from him with a smirk.

“Don’t you even pretend you didn’t sob like a baby when Shelby died at the end of _Steel Magnolias,_ Harry James Potter.” Hermione warned playfully with a finger pointed in his direction. He paid her little attention as he stole his chocolate-covered raisins back from Theo, bribing the brunette with a peck to the cheek. 

“No comment” was all Harry said, though Theo was nodding emphatically, his arm draped casually around the wizard’s shoulders.

“How do you suppose they got the telly to work with all of the magic in the air?” mused Ron from the other large, leather armchair in the common room. He wasn’t even expecting the soft throw pillow as it landed with a thud against his head.

“You sound like Dad. Hush.” Ginny chided, getting ready to chunk another pillow at her brother if he decided to offer a retort. He wasn’t even given the chance before Hermione was admonishing the group to be quiet.

“SHH!” Hermione shushed the group loudly before practically burrowing down into her blanket and turning her eyes to the screen. She was completely wrapped in a large, red and gold fleece with only her face peeking out from underneath the blanket. “It’s starting.” 

As the credits finished, the title screen was revealed as _The Wizard of Oz_. The group was entranced by the movements on the screen as Dorothy fought to rescue her dog Toto before a tornado hit, sending her hurdling towards Oz. There were gasps of “ooh” and “ah” as young woman stepped out of the house, in color no less, and was promptly proclaimed a witch. 

Had anyone looked closely at the witch cocooned in her blanket, they would have seen her mouthing along to the words.

_Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch?_

_I’m not a witch at all. I’m Dorothy Gale, from Kansas._

“Who is so obviously a muggle.” Pansy muttered, dipping her hand once more in the bowl of butter popcorn. Plaits and a gingham dress? No self-respecting witch would be caught dead dressing like that, even in the era of Grindlewald.

_Oh. Well is that a witch?”_

“She can’t possibly mean the…” Pansy was about ready to toss her popcorn at the screen.

_Who? Toto? Toto’s my dog!_

“…oh damnit,” grumbled the witch before popping another piece of popcorn in her mouth. Neville just chuckled at her reactions and ran his fingertips over her arm, though he would easily have admitted to having the same ones had he been paying attention to the movie on the screen rather than the witch on his lap.

As Dorothy Gale skipped down the yellow brick road, the door to their dormitory swung open and everyone’s heads turned to see which of their peers had entered with the exception of Hermione who was still cocooned in her blankets, thoroughly entranced by the screen, mouthing along to the words.

“Hey, mate.” Theo said, greeting his oldest friend, while Harry reached over and grabbed the remote from Hermione, pausing the movie, despite the witch’s protests.

Draco returned Theo’s greeting with a nod, tugging at the Windsor knot of his tie to loosen it before shedding his robes, leaving him in trousers, a white oxford, and a gray vest. “Who picked this time?” He asked, motioning towards the screen. 

“Hermione did. She was the winner of Stone-Parchment-Shears.”

“I swear she cheats.” Ron muttered.

“It’s not my fault you’re predictable, Ronald.” She chided, gently. “If you had any understanding of Arithmancy, you’d know there’s a way to discern the patterns in that silly’s children’s game.”

Draco shrugged his shoulders, toeing out of his shoes and leaving them near the door with several other pairs. “She’s not wrong, Weasley.” 

“Will you all stop your nattering?” Pansy grumbled. “I would like to finish this before I expire, please.”

Draco surveyed the common area, seeing the majority of the seating areas were occupied. Neville and Pansy were taking up the large leather armchair while Ginny sat in the wingback near the hearth. Weasley was sprawled out in the other leather arm chair while Theo and Harry were cuddled up on one end of the couch, leaving the only seat near…

“Come on, Malfoy. I don’t bite.” Hermione said, scooting closer to the arm of the sofa, pulling the blanket down from over her head to rest on her shoulders, releasing a cascade of mahogany curls. 

Pansy explained what had happened so far in the movie as Draco awkwardly settled himself on the couch with one arm flung over the back behind Hermione. He was in such close proximity he could smell a faint, lingering scent of her perfume. It was feminine and delicate, not at all what he expected based on what he knew about the muggleborn witch. He spent more time covertly watching her reactions to the movie than paying attention to all of the singing and dancing happening on the screen. 

He’d always been intrigued by the witch, even when he was teasing and bullying her in prior years as was expected of him by his parents. His father had essentially told him to make the witch’s life hell – she was beneath them and needed to be shown her true place. He hurled in the insults, called her horrible names and did so with a venom behind them, though it was more out of fear for his own father than his disdain for the witch in question. 

As best he could determine, his views on blood purity and the old ways had starting changing as early as third year. He was being a slimy, snarky git and she’d beat that right out of him with surprisingly powerful right hook. It was in that moment he found a quiet respect for the witch. 

His feelings for her had morphed from there, though he wasn’t entirely certain exactly what he thought of her. There was always a pull to be close to her and he found himself sitting near, but not next to her in their classes. They had managed to even work amiably on a potions project this term. 

With McGonagall’s decision to house all of the eighth years together in a single dormitory, their friend groups had slowly come intertwined and he found himself in contact with her more and more. Sometimes, he thought he caught a blush on her cheeks before she quickly turned away from him. He chalked it up to his imagination and poor lighting.

When they had first started back at Hogwarts, she was barely a shell of her former self. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and she was little more than skin and bones. She looked haggard and worn, though her appearance slowly changed over time. She had regained some of her figure, though there were still dark circles beneath her eyes that intrigued him. He suspected she struggled to sleep, despite the safety of the castle. With everything they had been through over the past year or more, it was of little surprise.

By the end of the movie, the witch had wedged herself up under the crook of his arm, her head resting against his shoulder while his arm had come down around her shoulders. He wasn’t entirely certain who had made the first move, but there was something that felt so intensely perfect about having her so near. It was as though she were made for him. 

He wasn’t certain what made him do it, but he traced the rune which signified power, survival, and endurance down the curve of her arm.


	4. Cultivation (PP/NL)

She hadn’t meant to get herself caught by the Searing Tanglevine which was slowly constricting and burning the flesh of her right forearm, but she really needed one of its ruby-red blossoms for a project in potions. She thought she had put it under the appropriate stasis and halting spells, but she had never been all that good at charms – other aspects of magic she was a complete whiz at, but proficiency in charms had always eluded her for some reason or another. It was that stupid mistake that left her in greenhouse six at the mercy of a stupid sodding plant. Pansy had tried setting it on fire, blasting it into oblivion, and soaking it with water, but nothing seemed to work on the impenetrable plant, so she did the last thing she knew to do. She screamed at the top of her lungs and sent up red sparks praying to Morgana that someone else was anywhere near the greenhouses at this time of night. 

“You would think with a name like Pansy you would be marginally better at herbology,” called a voice from the doorway of the greenhouse in a deep, teasing baritone. He was cloaked in the shadows but she could tell he was tall and lean as he leaned against the doorway of the greenhouse in such a nonchalant way it gave Draco a run for his money.

“Very funny,” she sneered, trying once more to yank herself away from the vine as it continued to constrict and sear her flesh. “Did you come here to gloat or to help?” she asked with a whimper as the vine crept further up her forearm, leaving a red welt in its wake. It probably wasn’t entirely smart to be snarling and sniping with your possible savior, he did have the upper hand, after all and the last thing Pansy needed was for the wizard to turn tail simply because she was a Slytherin.

The person in the doorway shrugged and stepped into the greenhouse, pulling the wand from the pocket in his trousers muttering a simple _Lumos_ which illuminated his face. Locks of dark brown hair brushed the curve of his brows, his lips twisted into an amused expression. 

“Longbottom?” she exclaimed, the usually bumbling wizard the last person she expected to see. Herbology was the one subject in which he could rarely be bested, so it wasn’t entire out of the question that he was near the green houses so late in the evening, but he always seemed to be so incompetent in other forms of magic that it made Pansy feel rather hopeless. 

“Sweet Circe, I’m dead,” she muttered beneath her breath. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t whispered it quiet quietly enough which elicited a touch of mocking laughter from the Gryffindor in the doorway. His response sent a chill through her spine. The confidence he was displaying seemed completely out of character and she had no idea how to react to this new demeanor.

“You’re at my mercy, Parkinson. I suggest you remember that before you think to insult me.” His tone was colder than anything Pansy thought he would’ve been able to muster, though he continued to step closer. She missed the mischievous glint in his eyes when the vine curved further up her forearm, just past her elbow. She tugged against the vine again, causing it to release another burst of heat, leaving yet another red welt along her forearm.

“You murder one snake and you start thinking you’re tough shit. Get this fucking thing off of me.” Her voice was close to a whine, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be out of the clutches of this stupid plant. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists at her side as it constricted further even as the wizard across the greenhouse smirked.

“First lesson. When at the mercy of another person, the use of manners is paramount to avoiding further… punishment.” He lingered over the final word as though he were caressing it as he flicked his eyes over the struggling witch before him.

Pansy grit her teeth, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to pain or irritation at the way he was speaking of lessons and punishments. Her brain was so muddled with the burning sensation along her arm and as she desperately wanted to get as far away from this plant as possible, Pansy decided to play his game. This wasn’t the time for cunning or manipulation – she needed help. 

“Please, Longbottom. If you know how to stop it, just do it. It hurts.” She dropped her eyes to the ground, her lashes fluttering, obscuring her vision as the vine further constricted around her arm.

“Much better,” he remarked, crossing the greenhouse with a much quicker stride. 

“Searing Tanglevine,” he said in a tone resembling that of Professor Sprout giving one of her lectures. “Nocturnal. Red-blossoms with restorative properties, though the leaves are poisonous. Causes a burning sensation when touched. Semi-sentient. Grows best in darkness as light, natural or conjured, will cause it to recoil and eventually die.” 

With that he swept his wand, still illuminated with the gentle light of the _lumos_ spell, across her forearm, letting the light wash over the vine. When it did, the vine pulled back from Pansy’s arm, leaving a spiral of raised and inflamed welts where it had been searing her flesh. Neville grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the vine, casting a cooling charm across the affected area causing Pansy to visibly shudder and release a soft moan at the relief. 

Neville tenderly trailed his fingertips across the sensitive, seared flesh experimentally and saw her shoulders tighten and release at the sensation, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. 

“Burn cream should sort this out.” With a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, a small glass jar of the blue tinted cream flew into his hand. 

“May I?” he asked, as he unscrewed the lid, all traces of the taunting, calculating man disappearing only to be replaced by a look Pansy was certain she misinterpreted for concern.

Pansy nodded, squeaking out a “yes” in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. Dipping his fingers into the cream, he gingerly pressed his fingers to the blistered flesh, massaging the burn cream into her wounds with the utmost care. 

Her eyelids fluttered as the intensity of the burning sensation weakened. “Thank you,” she whispered as his fingers reverently traced just to the side of the spiral around her arm being careful not to disturb layer of cream over her burns. No one had ever touched the way he did in this moment; it was as though she were something utterly precious to him. 

Brushing his lips across the back of her hand, just below where the tanglevine had left it’s first welt, he smiled at her. Pansy felt her breath catch in her throat at his unexpected display of chivalry.

“Anytime.” He offered as he released her hand and exited the greenhouse, leaving a very confused and mildly aroused Pansy in his wake.

Collapsing in a heap on the floor of greenhouse six, Pansy examined her memory of their interaction moments before as she fought to catch her breath. When he’d first walked into the greenhouse, she had been all but certain he would have walked right back out, leaving her at the mercy of the plant which ensnared her. Though, after a cryptic exchange of words, he’d freed her and even tended to her wounds. 

Pansy glanced down at her arm. The red spirals were still covered by the blue paste, though it was slowly fading to a lavender as it removed the inflammation and sting from the burns. 

The way he had touched her arm and tended to her wounds had been done with the utmost care as though he was afraid of hurting her. And then, oh Circe, he had pulled out whatever pureblood manners he had learned from that old bat of a grandmother he had and acted like a complete gentleman before leaving her behind in the greenhouse. 

She didn’t know what to make of it. 

Pansy remained on the floor of the greenhouse for another few minutes, mulling things over before she finally stood and began to gather her things. Several perfect, red blossoms were set next to her schoolbag. She knew they must have come from Longbottom but when he cut them from the plant, she didn’t know. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Pansy carefully tucked the blossoms into a small glass jar and made her way back to the castle.


	5. Something Beautiful (PP/DM/HP)

_Perhaps no flower (not excepting even the queenly rose) claims to be so universal a favorite, as the viola tricolor; none currently has been honored with so rich a variety of names, at once expressive of grace, delicacy and tenderness._

-Dorothea Lynde Dix

Pansy Parkinson wasn’t some delicate little flower like her name suggested. Though she wasn’t bright nor soft as her namesake suggested, she was vibrant and feminine in her own way. She couldn’t quite say that she wasn’t colorful as she had chosen to adorn her body in ink despite her preference for darker hues. A cascade of her namesake flowers flowed over one shoulder while a constellation of tiny stars in varying hues wrapped around her torso intermingling with the flowers along her back and a garter of protective runes wrapped around one of her thighs. She wasn’t only addicted to the color and the symbolism of the ink infused into her skin but to the sting created as it was injected.

The differences between the other girls in her year and herself were apparent from the moment she stepped onto the platform to attend Hogwarts. The other girls were all ringlets and ribbons and frilly frocks, flitting about like butterflies in a flower garden – but not Pansy. Her dark hair was cut in a severe bob which she retained even into adult hood, the line just brushing her shoulders and though her lips were not yet adorned in her signature crimson, they might as well have been with how often she’d had to bite her bottom lip to keep her thoughts to herself. While her mother wouldn’t quite let her wear the high, patent leather pumps she desperately wanted, she wore a modest heel and a set of unadorned black robes in a flattering cut.

Pansy was a chameleon when she had to be, having made friends with the vapid girls in her yea. She even put on her best smile and feminine skirts to convince everyone she and Draco had been in a relationship for much of their time at school, something they continued to this day. She could wear the pinks and the laces but she craved the darks and the leathers. Her mother ached for another pureblood princess whom she could dress in those frilly frocks her peers seemed to love despite the fact that Pansy’s two older sisters were barely of age, married, and fully out in pureblood society by the time she entered Hogwarts.

Well, pureblood society and society functions could get fucked. Pansy wanted none of that. One charity gala per year was her limit and she made certain she was never far from a tray of champagne when she attended on Draco’s arm.

The witch knew exactly who she was, where she was going, and what she wanted from life – even from the tender age of the eleven. She was the embodiment of her house – ambitious, cunning, skeptical, and she would do what it would take to achieve her dreams.

Even if that meant playing nice.

Even if that meant wearing those awful pastel dress robes the Yule ball.

Even if that meant joining the Inquisitorial Squad when she loathed that fat, pink toad.

Even if that meant trying to turn over Potter to the Dark Lord. 

When the battle was over, Pansy found him and attempted to explain why she’d spoken up when no one else had. She wouldn’t apologize for her actions but he needed to know exactly why she did what she did. He almost looked through her as she attempted to explain she only wanted to spare the lives of those who were currently laying too still beneath crisp, white sheets - dead at the hands of the Dark Lord and his army of Death Eaters and dark creatures. Casualties of this war they had all been too young to fight. He’d nodded solemnly as she spoke looking more careworn than she’d ever seen him. His confidence seemed to have been shattered and he had a haunted look around his eyes. She honestly didn’t know whether to comfort him or berate him for not turning himself over sooner. Ultimately, the latter wouldn’t help and he did manage to save them all when the Dark Lord was vanquished. She settled for laying a hand on his bicep and giving it a gentle squeeze before retreating to assist in whatever way she could.

_I know why you did what you did. Thank you for saving us. I forgive you_.

Their second encounter happened nearly ten years after the end of the war in a place she was not expecting to see him. At all. Ever. Especially not when her torso was a mural of pink welts, purple bruises, and red handprints while she was bound with her arms above her head, barely balancing on legs separated by a wide spreader bar. Oh, she hated the feeling of a stubbed toe, a calf-cramp, and the excessive pain of the _Cruciatus_ as much as the next witch, but there was something serene to be found in the white-hot line left by a cane, the lick of the whip as it curved around her breast, or a well-placed stinging jinx. 

Her body quivered with need and the blonde man currently circling her was perfectly poised to give her exactly that. He knew every inch of her body intimately. He knew exactly where and when to strike, driving her higher and higher towards her inevitable peak.

Giving up control was not easy for Pansy but in order to have her needs met, it was necessary. Placing that control in the hands of her best friend made it easier. Theirs was an arrangement that helped meet both of their needs. It kept his name out of the paper because honestly how many articles could the Prophet write about his routine, weekly dinners with his long-time girlfriend (as absurd as _that_ was – they’d never been more than friends) and they both received some measure of sexual satisfaction.

When Pansy forced her eyes to open upon command, she’d met his. Bright green shone in a sea of muddled colors.

Those green eyes remained her tether to the world as the scene ended and she was released, carted off stage in a pair of strong arms to be held, hydrated, and healed. When she re-emerged a half hour later, thoroughly sated, her stride was confident as she moved about the floor on her too-high heels before she was almost immediately cornered by Potter.

To be honest, he looked good. His hair was longer, tied back in a messy bun and his face bore a five o’clock shadow. His stance was the same as ever – poised on edge as if he would need to draw his wand at a moment’s notice, but he was dressed well in dark trousers and a fitted oxford with the sleeves rolled back to display his forearms. Circe, he looked like he needed to relax and there was something akin to the look a caged animal has about them in those green eyes.

“Cat got your tongue, Potter?”

A glass of water was pressed into her hand as she felt a presence at her back. She didn’t have to turn around to know Draco was standing behind her. She knew him simply by the feel his hands resting on her shoulders and the scent of his cologne if she hadn’t heard the teasing lilt of his voice, playfully mocking the man before her.

If it was possible for Harry to stand any taller, he did so the moment Draco appeared. Shoulders rolled back, posture straightened, and his gaze hardened. It made Pansy smirk to see the two of them still dancing around each other even after all this time. She could feel Draco’s erection pressing into her backside and she knew it wasn’t because of the tight black skirt she was wearing nor the fact that their scene went exceptionally well earlier in the evening. 

“I wanted a word with Parkinson.”

A rumble of laughter echoed behind her as Draco squeezed her shoulders and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “No one comes here just for a word.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and took a sip of the water before abandoning the glass on a nearby table. She had no patience for Draco being a tease and Potter looked like he was about to explode if he didn’t say whatever it was he needed to say. Clearly, he didn’t want to say whatever it was in front of Draco. She had an idea of what he might ask her, but she wasn’t about to put the words in his mouth. 

“Draco,” she called, tilting her head upwards to meet his eyes, “I’ll find you later, yeah?”

The bastard smirked. “Of course, pet.”

She had ahold of his collar before she knew what she was doing and pulled the much taller man down to her height leaving a stunned Harry Potter behind her. Her violet eyes darkened and her brow crinkled, dangerously. “If you want a pet, Draco Malfoy, go and find Luna. But I am not, and never will be, your _pet._ ” She’d seen the witch wearing a tail and little else earlier and honestly Rolf looked a bit overwhelmed with his creature-obsessed wife, despite his own passion for the subject.

Draco merely leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead, the smirk still adorning his lips. “Fine, fine. Come find me in a bit.” The prat was always too in control to be ruffled by her, which of course made for a great scene, but was irritating otherwise.

Pansy released him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt with her hands before turning back towards Potter, leaving Draco to saunter away. She clasped her hands in front of him, waiting for him to speak, but he seemed to be struggling with his words as other members of their private little world moved around them, though her eyes didn’t miss how his followed the blonde walking away behind them.

“I just… well…” He started to rub the back of his neck with a lifted hand. “Are you trying to atone for something?” The words rushed out so fast she almost didn’t understand what he said. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were looking anywhere but at her.

_Oh._

Fuck. How did she even begin to explain to Potter in simple terms that she liked pain that accompanied the marks left on her body? It had taken her a while to come to terms with the fact that she liked it just a little too much when Hermione Granger raked her nails down Pansy’s back hard enough to draw blood during a few weeks of experimentation when they returned for that mandatory eighth year. But once she did, her entire world changed.

“Sexual gratification is rarely about atonement.”

Those beautiful green eyes finally met her own again. “But…”

Whatever words he was trying to say died on his lips right then and there. Pansy drew a breath and placed her arm along the curve of his bicep, well-muscled from his time as an Auror. She wasn’t certain if her desires matched his own, but it was clear he was struggling with whatever he was trying to come to terms with. “It’s okay to like what you like, _Harry_.”

The use of his first name was intentional and Pansy could see him relax, even if only infinitesimally. She needed to him to know that, despite their past, she wouldn’t judge him – not here. Not in this world.

“I’m not sure what I like,” he muttered. Pansy had an idea about what she _thought_ he might like and to be honest, she wouldn’t mind getting her hands – or her mouth – on the Chosen One. 

She placed two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head with gentle pressure so his eyes met her own. The look in his eyes belayed his anxiety over having even approached her. He needed a bit of a delicate touch – the last thing she wanted to do was scare him away. He was at the precipice of something truly wonderful and Pansy wanted to show him her world. She wanted to take away his feelings of inadequacy and guide him to a place of confidence and connection. She knew that if he and Draco could learn to work together, the three of them could be explosive.

“Come have a drink with me and Draco – we’re sort of a package deal, he and I. We can talk about what you’ve experienced so far and what you might like to try in the future.” She smiled softly and ran her thumb along the curve of his jaw. “No pressure and no judgment. Just drinks and a bit of a chat.”

The nod he gave her was all the consent she needed in that moment. When dropped her hand from his chin and slipped it into his palm, giving it a reassuring squeeze, Harry’s shoulders squared and his posture changed.

This was going to be the start of something beautiful.


	6. Escape (PP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clandestine. Purple. Teacup.   
> From: The Restricted Section: Multi+Triads Only (Facebook)

It was in the wee hours of the morning that Pansy imagined clandestine meetings with a handsome prince, sometimes a princess, and other times – both together. She wasn’t certain what it meant – to want to love two people at once, but their forms populated her mind together more often than they did alone. 

The insomnia hit often after she was subjected to tea, bland cucumber sandwiches, and even duller conversation at the behest of her mother. With a teacup forced into her hand filled with a weak earl grey and devoid of sugar ( _we must watch our figure, my flower!)_ , she made conversation with the other girls her age. It was as though they were practicing to be tiny clones of their own mothers as they never spoke of anything more interesting that the weather. Pansy hated it. 

She longed for freedom from this oppressive world of tea parties and dancing lessons even as a young girl of ten. She wanted to run free through the meadows, climb trees in the forest, and swim with the fish and the turtles in a crystal clear pond.

But most of all, Pansy wanted to fly away with her knight in shining armor. He cut a dark figure with bright green eyes and hair the color of midnight. He would sweep her way on his pure-white Pegasus (no matter that it was the stuff of legend) while the figure who rode at his side – a the lovely princess, always gowned in purple with wild curls and freckles bridging her nose, would follow on her mare. 

She knew she would be chastised by her mother for the dark circles that inevitably grew under her violet eyes but she couldn’t bring herself to close them and sleep.

One day.

One day, she would escape. 


	7. Opera (PP/BZ/GW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Train. Love. Skirts.   
> From: The Restricted Section: Multi + Triads Only (Facebook)

“Oh, sweet Circe, I love the train of that skirt! You look ridiculously sexy, Parks.”

“Ginevera Molly Weasley!” Pansy admonished, brushing her gloved hands over the silk of her periwinkle gown as she glared at the witch, “You did not just call my 1957 Dior _gown,_ a skirt.”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders, leaning back on their bed with her weight resting on her palms as she drew her jogger covered legs into a pretzel shape. She couldn’t look more different from Pansy right now if she tried. While the dark-haired witch was dressed to the nines, periwinkle silk hugging her curves with diamonds dangling from her ears, Ginny was sweaty from her recent run with her ginger hair piled high on her head with a messy bun. 

“I still can’t believe you talked him into this.”

“It was an excuse to wear this gown, to be honest. I could care less that _Don Giovanni_ is playing at the opera but you know how Blaise gets with anything to do with his precious _Mozart._ ” Pansy leaned forward to examine her face in the mirror of her dressing table, tube of mascara clasped between her fingers. She applied the dark liquid to her lashes in even strokes, her pouty lips forming an ‘o’ shape as she held her violet eyes open. 

Ginny’s brown crinkled, “You know, I really don’t. Our relationship tends to be a bit more physical and less… theatrical than yours.” She waggled her eyebrows, brown eyes drawing over Pansy’s form, imagining the arse she knew was covered only in black lace beneath the voluminous train.

Pansy blinked her eyes, placing the cap back on the tube of mascara and discarding it in a drawer. “Let’s just say he is as passionate about Mozart as he is about making you scream his name.”

The redheaded witch quirked a brow and chuckled before flopping back onto their bed, “Oh really?”

“And we all know how much you like to scream, Gin.” Blaise quipped as he sauntered into the room wearing a bespoke three piece suit in a rich, navy wool. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss against Ginny’s forehead, the sweat clinging to her skin coating his lips.

“Ugh!” She exclaimed, wiggling back out of Blaise’s reach and nearly falling out of their bed with a squeak for her troubles. “I’m disgusting.”

The dark man smiled and kneeled on the plush comforter, tapping her playfully on the nose. “I beg to differ, my little firecracker.”

“Your trousers will wrinkle, Blaise.” Pansy huffed, raising a perfectly sculpted brow as she adjusted her opera glovers before retrieving her handbag.

Blaise rose from the bed and crossed the small space to wrap his arms around Pansy from behind, large dark hands settling on the light blue silk at her hips. “Are you ready, love?”

She nodded and looked over her shoulder towards Ginny. “Are you sure you won’t come with us? You can wear the 1960 gold Dovima in the closet if you promise not to drink anything other than white.”

Ginny dug the palms of her hands into her eyes, remembering the one time she’d had a glass of wine and some fat cow bumped into her and made her spill it down the front of one of Pansy’s precious vintage gowns. “That was one time and the red came out!” She rolled over onto her stomach, propping her head up in her hands with a smirk. “And no, the jacuzzi and I have a date and I would hate to stand him up.”

Pansy’s shoulders shook with the small laugh that bubbled up from her throat. “We’ll see you in a few hours. We wouldn’t dream of separating you and your second-husband.”

“Good! I might even let him get to second base tonight.”

Blaise glanced between the two women. “Wait, wouldn’t that mean you get into the tub fully clothed? I’ve been in that tub with you before and you’ve been anything but.”

“Oh, go watch your stuffy opera and leave me to my bath.”


	8. Mates (HG/LB/FG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cheshire, Kiss, Laughter  
> From: The Restricted Section: Multi + Triads Only (Facebook) Monday Muse

The cheshire cat-like grin that always spread across Fenrir’s mouth when he got his way used to unnerve Hermione. His eyes would take on a wicked gleam while the smile slid from one corner of his mouth to the other, displaying too many of his teeth and on his broad, rough face, it seemed out of place – like a man so huge and dangerous shouldn’t also be allowed to smile in a way that instantly made her core clench.

That smile usually meant that he was about to pounce. Her werewolf was a man of few words but his urges bordered on insatiable and it wasn’t uncommon for him to throw both her and Lavender over his shoulders, the pair of them giggling like school girls, the raucous laughter echoing throughout their camp, and toss them on to the pile of furs in his tent only to have his wicked way with them.

Until Hermione had been bitten, she’d been through boyfriend after boyfriend, always feeling like something was just _off_ and not forty eight hours after a werewolf had sunk his teeth into her shoulder, forever altering her, had Fenrir shown up at the hospital, pulled her off of all of the monitors and carted her back to camp. Oh, she yelled and screamed and even managed to hex him a few times, but once she calmed down and they were actually able to have a conversation (took several days, mind), she was in his arms planting kiss after kiss across his bearded cheeks within what seemed like a few minutes. 

When she found out he was already mated, she ran away from camp for a few days until Lavender came to retrieve her and the two witches managed to reconcile through several cups of tea laced with sugar and honesty. While Hermione had expected to fall in love with Fenrir, she hadn’t expected to also fall in love with Lavender. She’d just about loathed the girl throughout school but being bitten and living nomadic in the forest had forever altered the formerly vivacious girl. She was still bright and gregarious but there was a somber calm about her now and Hermione loved to wrap her arms around the witch and pull her close, long fingers carding through loose blonde waves as they drifted off to sleep.

Hermione had been raised in a good, conservative middle-class household and with that came the somewhat antiquated belief that love was only capable between a man and a woman. It took her months to fall into a rhythm with Lavender and Fenrir who always seemed so in-sync with one another and often left her feeling like an outsider who had invaded their already perfect marriage bed. She felt trapped for months because the bond pulsing through her veins wouldn’t let her leave Fenrir’s side, nevertheless the overwhelming love for her that radiated from the werewolf, until one night she drank a little too much and Lavender’s dress was a little low cut and suddenly the forest was just _too_ warm. Clothes were shed, more spirits were imbibed, and Hermione howled at the moon in a way she never had before.

She’d seen that cheshire cat-like smile then, too.


	9. Loss (NM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: See End Note  
> From: #SaoirseScenePrompts  
> Trigger Warning: Stillbirth, Child Death

Elegant hands were folded across her lap as she stared at the children giggling as they ran, weaving through the swings, cutting under the bridge, and galloping across the wood-chip filled space, their care-free laughter filling the air around the playground. The bright sun peaking out from between fat, white clouds promised a beautiful afternoon. The nearby pool was filled with more tiny people, splashing and floating in multicolored plastic rings - their reliance on the floating life preservers absolute as the colored rings held them precariously above the depths they presumed safe, though they were nothing but. 

It took all of the effort she possessed to not wring her hands as she watched the children play. The children were a meadow, like different sorts of unruly wildflowers and weeds peeking out from between soft grasses and grains as they swayed in the breeze. A chubby girl with dark brown curls and a purple bathing costume stumbled over her own feet as she tried to jump into the pool, flopping into the water with a wide splash, water spraying the other children and eliciting another wave of laughter. A boy no more than three wearing a spray of bright yellow and blue stripes tottered across the bridge linking the two jungle gyms. A lithe woman dressed in soft green led a pair of twins with fine blonde hair toward the swings while a dark skinned man dried his daughter off with a fluorescent pink towel. 

She came here once a week hoping to catch a glimpse of the little girl with bright, white-blonde waves and rosy cheeks she’d seen months ago. One who looked so much like the sweet little one she’d lost before she’d even had a chance to glimpse the world outside of her mother’s womb. One who would have made the best sister to her Draco. One who should have been entering Hogwarts this year. 

It wasn’t as if Narcissa was unfamiliar with loss. She’d lost her sister Andromeda to a muggle man years ago and though the witch was still presumed to be alive, Narcissa had been forbidden from any contact for fear of being blasted off of the family tree and left desolate. She’d lost Bellatrix to her slow, all-consuming insanity in her bid to serve the Dark Lord and she’d lost Lucius to the same cause, though there was still hope she could pull him back from the fray before he was gone for good. And many, many years ago, she’d lost her precious baby brother Orion to a negligent nanny and a pool. Much like her sweet Antlia, Orion had been so blue, so still. Too still. Too blue. Too… lost. 

Her hands shifted in her lap, long, thin fingers aching to grasp at her skirts, desperate to break down and grieve for her losses for the hundredth time, frantic to break free from her hair coiffed at the back of her head in tight knots and the pristine robes she always wore - always looking the part of the perfect pureblooded socialite. 

Narcissa wanted to dig her bare feet down into the earth, smell the freshly mown grass, and release everything she had been holding in. She felt like the thunderclouds in the distance, threatening to burst any moment with a torrential rain, soaking the parched ground with her tears and screaming her pain into the damp earth. 

A hand closed around her shoulder. Her time was up. 

It was time to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was found from Saoirse Kinnardy on Facebook a part of #SaoirseScenePrompts. I used about half of these. 
> 
> Person(s), Character(s), or Relationship Type: Mom, Mommy, or Mother  
> A Character’s Physical Trait: Elegant hands  
> A Character’s Positive Trait(s): Courteous  
> A Character’s Negative Trait(s): Stubborn  
> A Character’s Motivation: Providing for loved ones  
> A Character’s Emotional Wound: A stillbirth  
> Place or Setting A playground with a public pool  
> Time or Time of Day or Night: Afternoon  
> Weather or Other Natural Phenomenon: Torrential Rain  
> Something from the Scene's Setting: Lady Bug  
> Something a Character Could Eat, Drink, or Taste: Martini  
> Something a Character Could Touch or Feel: Dog Fur  
> Sound or Noise: Children’s Laughter  
> Scent or Smell: Licorice  
> Thing: Can  
> Action or Verb: Stumble  
> A Twist or Secret: One character witnessed his or her sibling drown when they were little.  
> An Emotion to Show: Adoration  
> Intimate Act: Giggling  
> Conversation/Communication Type: Phone Conversation  
> Random Sentence: We have never been to Asia, nor have we visited Africa.  
> Additional Words to Include: Modernize, angle, reliance, myth, blind, bait, knot, effort, nuclear  
> #SaoirseScenePrompts


	10. Runes (HG/DM/HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Runes  
> Prompter: The Restricted Section: Multis + Triads Only (18+) Facebook Group

He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there. How many times had he etched the familiar runes into her skin with the tip of his finger, directing his magic to bind her in protective enchantments. To keep her safe.

It had been years since the first time he traced the familiar patterns over her skin, when they had lain together in the Room of Requirement, a crackling fire in the hearth and their bodies pressed together without a scrap of fabric between them. He held her tightly against him and pressed delicate kisses to her hairline while his fingers skated along her back, across her hips, and over her arms. 

_ Shelter. _

_ Safeguard. _

_ Focus. _

_ Endure. _

_ Protect. _

_ Survive. _

It was likely those same runes that saved her life when she was writhing on his drawing room floor under the torture curse. He’d entrusted her to their third, forcing a promise that he would keep her safe… yet she was dying before his eyes and their lover was locked in the dungeons, his face hideously deformed from whatever last minute hex the brilliant witch had cast to obscure his identity. It had been months since he’d seen her, touched her skin, held her close and kissed her breathless, but the runes held. She was sheltered from the curse. She endured the edge of the knife’s blade as it cut into her skin. She was safeguarded from her mind becoming unravelled. She was focused enough to lie. She was protected - as much as she could have been in that moment… and she survived. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t run toward her or run away from her. She held his gaze until his Aunt forced it away and he knew that she knew he couldn’t help her. Kill or be killed, he told her. Harm or be harmed. Make it out alive or die trying. It was a gentle hand on his from his mother that gave him the strength to move his feet and leave her where she was. 

He was never more grateful than he had been when his house elf apparated them away. And then, of course, they had to break into somewhere purported to be impenetrable and ride a fucking dragon. 

She never ceased to amaze him, his little witch. He found her after the battle, standing firm and at her side when the Dark Lord beckoned. His hand trailed down her back then, etching the runes into the fabric of her clothing as she stood tall at his side, tears streaming down her face as their lover was declared dead, the third piece to their shared soul. They couldn’t feel the loss, but then again, the research on the matter was sketchy at best. 

Their magic surged when he jumped from the half-giant’s arms and he couldn’t tell if their witch was about to murder him herself or kiss him senseless when they were all safe. He sort of hoped it was both because he wanted to do exactly the same. 

Of course, his brilliant witch knew exactly what he was doing as he skated his fingers along her spine in the same familiar patterns. She’d known all along they weren’t merely randomized light caresses. Their husband, snoring loudly on the other side of the bed however, was still none-the-wiser. 

“Draco,” she muttered in a sleepy drawl, pouty lips pressed against his neck. 

“Mm?” he hummed.

“Add  _ Berkano,”  _ she said and his fingers immediately outlined the twin angles on her skin, his mind skipping through the meanings of that particular rune. 

_ New Beginnings. _

_ Growth. _

_ Fertility. _

_ Birth. _

“How long?” he asked, fingers stilling and grey eyes peering down at her. 

“Twelve weeks,” she yawned, “ ‘s why I’ve been so sick.” 

“Have you told Harry?” he asked, head turning to look at their husband. His long dark hair circled his head in a messy tangle and his mouth was open as he snored, hands fisting he dark blue blanket so it was gathered against his chest. 

She shook her head, “No. I thought we could wake him up with the good news.” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and shifted his hand to her stomach as she moved and stretched with a languid ease, much like cat. His fingers traced the familiar patterns once more, his magic seeping into her skin and surrounding their unborn child. 

“I like the way you think, Granger.” 


	11. Dwagons (DM, SM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a work of fan art by kumatan0720 on tumblr! (https://kumatan0720.tumblr.com/post/612255280706781184/how-to-make-dad-play-with-you-101)

Draco was having such a good dream. 

He was on a beach somewhere with crystal clear turquoise water so clear that crabs could be seen scuttling to and fro on the sandy bottom while schools of brightly coloured fish swam in unnameable patterns. His beautiful wife was wearing naught but a bikini and a ridiculously large sun hat and his body was pressed against hers while he kissed her languidly. Blunted fingernails scraped against his scalp as she ran her fingers through his hair only to cup his cheeks in her hands and pull him closer to her. 

He could feel the warm sun beating down upon his back as he pulled her closer, laving open mouthed kisses over the curve of her neck and shoulder. His wife’s delicate hands slid over the planes of his body to yank at the towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Mm,” he hummed against her skin, “Someone’s impatient.” 

She giggled, nuzzling her nose against his and kissed him again. The tug at his towel became more insistent. 

When his arms tightened around his witch, he heard a very irritated grunt that sounded nothing like his wife but seemed to come from her. He stopped kissing her and stared down at her, but she looked lovely, content, and mussed in just the way he liked. 

Draco heard the sound again, though it was more like a huff than a grunt and before he knew it, Draco was ripped from sleep to sunlight stinging his eyes, his wife’s side of the bed empty, and a toddler tugging at his dressing gown. 

He’d been so tired last night he must’ve fallen asleep with it on. 

“Daddy!” the tot insisted, climbing up to sit on his back and tugging at his robe. 

“Can’t it wait another minute, Scorpius?” Draco mumbled in a sleepy haze. He ran his hands over his face and yawned, relaxing back into the pillows. Merlin help him, he just wanted a few more minutes. 

Unfortunately, his son was as relentless as he had been as a child. Stubborn as a hippogriff and sneaky as a niffler. And being only two, very used to getting his own way. 

“No! Pway!” The vowels were drawn out in a whine and Draco felt the chubby hands of his son brace against his back as Scorpius forced himself to stay upright with Draco’s subtle movements. 

With another yawn, Draco propped his head up on his hand, “Won’t you let your dad be at peace?” he asked as Scorpius began to roar like a dragon, only it was significantly less intimidating and consequently much more adorable. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the little blond boy. 

“No!” Scorpius shouted, “Dwagons!” He held his chubby arms above his head in what Draco assumed was supposed to be a claw-like fashion meant to intimidate. It was nearly the same motion the little boy used when he wanted to be picked up except for the fact that his face was scrunched up and he was baring his teeth and attempting a roar which sounded rather kittenish and certainly not intimidating.

“Yes, yes. I am aware of your love for dragons,” he deadpanned. Draco had spent much time studying dragons in his youth the moment he learned the meaning of his given name. However, he could only sing “Little Dragons Eat Their Breakfast” and “Baby Dragon Goes to Town” so many times before he wanted to vomit. And of course, those asinine songs had to accompany any play with Scorpius’ actual toy dragons. 

Merlin save him from childhood obsessions. 

Scorpius flailed his arms and fell off of Draco and onto the bed, little arms still held aloft with kicking feet and a growly sound coming out of his pouty two year old mouth. 

Draco attempted to sit up, but the little boy was faster than his tired father and very quickly, Draco found himself wide-eyed with an unexpected armful of toddler. He could feel Scorpius smile against his robe as the boy’s arms tightened infinitesimally around him in a tiny hug that carried so much emotion and love as children’s hugs often do. Sitting up, Draco wrapped Scorpius up in his arms and lifted him from where Scorpius had landed against his stomach. He kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair. 

Scorpius’s tiny hands fisted Draco’s robe and he grinned, reminding Draco how precious these moments were. 

“Okay, you win.” 


	12. Dessert (LM/HG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lumione, "Have you lost your mind?" from Tri DogMom on Facebook.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Hermione’s eyebrows were raised, her arms were crossed under the bust of her brand new dress and she was leaning forward as menacing as she could while facing off against the six-foot-two quidditch player. 

“I’m not taking that.” 

Draco was honestly surprised she didn’t stomp her foot as she glanced at the vial of lumpy brown potion. “If you want to get laid tonight, it’s a requirement.” 

“I can get laid by myself, thank you very much,” she huffed. “I don’t need to take polyjuice so someone will bloody-well shag me!” 

“And when was the last time you had a decent shag, Granger?” Draco asked, dangling the vial in front of her nose between two of his fingers with raised eyebrows and that Merlin-be-damned smirk she wanted to constantly wipe off of his smug face. 

Her lips pursed and her eyes flared and she grabbed the vial in her fist. When she popped off the cap, she threw it back at him before quickling downing the potion. It tasted like salt, lime, liver, and entirely too much tea tree oil. Revolting was the best word she could come up with. 

Her body began to shift and change and she soon wore the body of a leggy blonde with pin-straight locks and bright green eyes. “Really Draco? I look like your mother!” 

She did stomp her foot that time. 

Draco laughed. “You do not. Mum didn’t have quite so many freckles and she was much taller than you, pipsqueak.” The taller blond ruffled her hair, though his seeker-like reflexes caught her hand before she could slap him. Maybe she could get Harry to smack him for her. She’d have to owl him later and let him know what a prick his husband was being. 

“I hate you.”

“Liar.” 

He kissed her on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, affectionately steering her towards the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The arsehole had the audacity to wink at her before he shoved her out the door to the home he shared with Harry and swiftly shut the door behind her. 

Straightening her skirts, Hermione ducked behind a tree and apparated to the restaurant. 

Harry and Draco had set her up on a blind date. Being not only a high-profile war heroine she was also a candidate to be the next Minister for Magic and those two things combined ensured she was followed everywhere. Cameras flashed in her face. Witches handed her their babies to kiss. Reporters begged her for a statement. 

It wasn’t that she was angry at Draco for making her use polyjuice to go out - in fact, it was rather a nice change not to be recognized merely walking down the street. However, she was irritated that he refused to tell her exactly who her date was. All she knew is that for the evening she was Maya and he was Luke. And both of them would be polyjuiced. Still, she hated the potion and had thrown her little tantrum in an effort to get him to relent.

Stupid, sneaky former Slytherins and their ability to keep secrets. 

Still, Hermione walked the short distance to the restaurant and pushed open the heavy wooden doors, her dark blue dress swishing about her knees in the warm, spring wind. A hostess greeted her at the door with a too bright smile, “Name, please?” 

“The reservation is under Abraxas James.” Every time she said that name, she felt ridiculous but Harry and Draco had insisted on that name for her godchild, and Merlin knew Brax lived up to the pretension. 

The hostess actually blushed upon hearing the name and led her to a table occupied by a handsome, middle-aged wizard who actually stood when she approached. He introduced himself as Luke and kissed her hand in greeting before pulling out her chair. Little gestures like that never ceased to amaze her when Ron constantly spoke with food in his mouth, Lavender couldn’t get off of social media at the table, and Harry obsessively squeezed lemons and sugar packets into his water to make lemonade whenever they were at a restaurant. No, whoever this man was Draco set her up with had similar manners to his own. 

Pureblood. 

Despite her initial reservations about going on a blind date, she got along very well with Luke. He had a passion for art history and had been to museums around the globe to study various works, something she also found herself passionate about, but not to such a degree. His hand found hers sometime after they started discussing Degas and his thumb rubbed soft circles over her knuckles. 

His touch was electric and sent wonderful tingles down her spine and she knew that the face of the blonde haired-green eyed mystery muggle she was wearing for the evening was flushed with need. 

A few glasses of wine later, they were trading stories about their respective professions. He was an entrepreneur and she’d been a lawyer before running for Minister of Magic. 

He captivated her from that first kiss on the hand and Hermione issued not one single protest when he pushed her up against the inside to her front door of her flat and kissed her breathless. She pulled away when she felt the potion wearing off and tucked her face against his neck. Straight blonde hair turned to dark spirals and her skintone darkened considerably. The facial hair on his jaw disappeared, leaving smooth, clean and angled lines and she could just make out blond hair at the nape of his neck. 

She sighed with contentment and nuzzled against his neck as his hands skated along her spine. “Your son is an idiot.” 

“When did you realize?” he drawled, lips pressing against the top of her head. 

“Sometime around first year.” 

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling from his chest and sending another shiver coursing through her body. Merlin she loved that laugh - even more when she caused it. “You know what I mean, love.” 

“You kissed my hand. No one else ever does that,” she admitted, turning her face up and pressing a line of kisses along his jaw. “Especially not anyone Draco would think to set me up with.” 

“Mm… and if I’d been someone else?” Lucius mused, hands tugging the zipper of her dress down and baring her skin. 

“We’d still be right here,” she murmured as his fingers found the clasp of her bra.

“Liar,” he said, her dress slipping off of her shoulders to fall on the floor, leaving her in only her knickers. 

Hermione pulled back and smiled, her hand coming up cup Lucius’ cheek. “Well, we might be at your home instead. I would have begged off without dessert.” 

“My dessert is right in front of me,” he mused, hands cupping her arse and picking her up with practised ease. Her back was pressed in the door to her flat as he kissed her languidly, as though they had all of the time in the world. 

“You’ll have to tell me what I taste like.” 

“I’ll let you taste for yourself,” Lucius said, his head dipping down to nip at the shell of her ear, his warm breath ghosting against her skin.

Hermione moaned. "Gods, I love you." 

"I love you too, Hermione." 


	13. Moonlight (CC/HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Harry/Cho fluff after smut? Flutty? from A Typing Cat (HawkersAlley) on Facebook with the line "Go back to sleep." <3

Harry pressed his lips against the gentle curve of her cheekbone, brushing her sleek black hair away from where it obscured her face. Molding his body around hers, his fingertips brushed over her stomach and the small bump below before his hand splayed across her tiny, but slowly growing waistline. Months from now their nights would be spent much differently, but for now, he reveled in the feel of his delicate wife pressed against his body, magic sparking in gentle arcs between them. 

Moonlight shone through the open window as the gauzy curtains fluttered in the gentle summer breeze while Harry marveled at watching her sleep. He could just make out the curve of her nose, the pout of her full lips, and the dark lashes pressed against her smooth skin in the dim midnight-light. 

When he settled back to the bed, the arm propping him up sliding beneath her pillow, he kissed her shoulder and she stirred. 

“Mm?” she murmured in her sleep filled haze. “Harry? What time is it?” 

“Shh,” he breathed, fingers drawing a line down her sternum and over the softness of her stomach, “Go back to sleep, Cho.” 

She shook her head, turning over and tucking her arms against her chest before he shifted onto his back and she settled herself under his arm with her head resting on his chest. “Why are you awake?” she muttered, yawning. “It’s late.” 

Harry’s fingers carded through Cho’s thick, black hair, his blunted fingernails massaging her scalp with each pass. His other arm held her protectively against his chest. It may have taken them several years, a failed marriage to another witch, and a lot of healing, but they found each other once again and Harry was determined to never let her go. 

He loved this witch with everything he had. Had done since they were kids, really. 

“Just what’s to come,” he said, fingers twirling around the ends of her hair as it brushed against her bare back. 

“Our whole lives are about to change,” Cho said, soft, sleepy breaths panting across Harry’s chest, causing tiny goosebumps to rise in trails over his skin. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry said. His fingers left her hair and travelled over the curve of her back to cup her arse in his palm. Giving it a good squeeze, he shifted her forward until his lips were level with his. “I wouldn’t mind a bit more of this, though,” he teased before dipping his head and tasting her lips in an unhurried way. 

He drank her in, kissing her slowly. Her hands wound into his hair. One of his cupped her arse while the other pushed her hair from her face. When she threw her leg over his hips and settled atop him, he could feel the warm heat pooling between her legs. 

She sat up straight and stretched her hands over her head, small breasts heaving with each long inhale and exhale. His hands roamed the curve of her waist as she bathed in the moonlight, stretching and sighing like the goddess she was. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, their magic mingling as she slid down over him, taking him within that slick, wet heat he couldn’t get enough of. 

She moaned his name as he began to thrust shallowly, his thumb finding that tiny bundle of nerves and rubbing just the way she liked, soft strokes peppered with harder circles and lighter swipes. It didn’t take long before she came undone around him and he was finishing after her. 

He always felt a sense of loss when they separated but was quickly found once more when she curled against him, uncaring that his seed was coating the inside of her thighs. He pressed gentle kisses against her cheeks, peppering them over her forehead and down the bridge of her nose until she swatted him away with a tired giggle.    
  
“Go back to sleep, Harry.” 


	14. Holding Back (LM/HG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lumione, Smut, "You're holding back" from Sulis Writes on Facebook.

She was overwhelmed. Hermione hadn’t expected to be strung along on the edge of oblivion for the past hour. Or maybe it had only been ten minutes. She couldn’t tell. 

Every synapse in her body was firing with a single-mindedness, pulsing along her spine, drawing sensation from the tips of her fingers and her toes, and keeping her core tightened with raw, unfiltered need. She’d long ago lost her ability to think but the sounds of his voice still filtered through her consciousness. 

She was innately attuned to that low, deep drawl that made her skin burst into goose-pimples and caused heat to flare in core on the most mundane of days. On a day where he didn’t have her bound to his bed with soft, cotton rope. On a day where he hadn’t made her crawl to him with a leather leash attached to her collar. On a day where he wasn’t drawing lazy strokes over her clit with his tongue while his hands forcefully kept her thighs apart. 

Hermione could feel the cool goblin-wrought metal of his signet ring pressing against the damp skin of her thighs, though whether it was her own slick, sweat, or his saliva, she couldn’t tell. 

“You’re holding back,” Lucius murmured, pausing in his ministrations for a brief, blissful moment of relief. 

Hermione shook her head violently, a tangle of curls falling across her face and obscuring her vision. “No Sir!” she cried. 

She felt the ropes binding her ankles coil around her calves, snaking their way around to loop beneath her knees. A whispered spell barely registered and she was held open - not by his hands, but by the ropes. 

Hermione panted, quick breaths coming in time with each click his shoes made against the marble floor. She was given a reprieve. Everything suddenly felt cool when she was no longer writhing and moaning and keening and fighting to hover just on the edge of oblivion. The cooling sweat clinging to her skin made her shiver and her already tight nipples hardened more. 

The sound of his shoes told her he was returning. “I’m disappointed in you, pet,” Lucius said, his tone firm and neutral. 

“No, Master!” she cried, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. A gentle touch brushed her curls from her face and wiped the tears away. 

“You agreed to surrender yourself to me, Hermione, and yet you’re holding back.” 

She wanted to protest. She wanted to wrap herself around him and beg for forgiveness because she knew deep down it was true. She fought the pleasure he was granting her. She fought the falling for the fear that she would never surface again. Instead of surrendering herself to him like she’d promised, she fought. 

“Please,” she begged. For forgiveness, for another chance, for something she didn’t even know she needed. 

A nipple was pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger and she yelped. Cool metal settled on either side before the clamp was released and her nipple was set on fire with the pressure it exerted. Her back arched and she tugged against her bonds, hard. When the second one pinched her other nipple, she keened, low and needy. 

“Are you going to surrender, Hermione?” 

The sharp pain of the riding crop hitting the skin of her thigh made her scream. 

“Yes! Lucius please!”

Between the sharp bursts of pain dotting her thighs, heat blooming outward, she felt the gentle, loving caresses of the crop ghosting over her clit. She strained against her bonds for the contact, the pleasure, the sweet touches. 

Lucius smiled down at her, love held within his gaze, though Hermione couldn’t see it for her eyes were screwed tightly shut. He loved her like this, bound and at his mercy. He loved her when she sat across from him at the dinner table, when she curled into his side as they read together in the library, and when she rocked their son to sleep in her arms. 

Tossing the crop aside, his hands traced the welts left behind on her thighs before his fingers dipped into the wet heat at her center. 

Hermione moaned. 

Her entire body was taught and strained and when Lucius withdrew his fingers to spread her juices over the fresh welts on her thighs, she whined. Lowering his face her to cunt, Lucius pressed his tongue once more to her clit, his fingers stroking languidly inside of her as he worked her to the brink of oblivion once more. 

Slick walls pulsed and fluttered around his fingers. Breaths came in short, needy pants interspersed between prayers to the gods and cries of his name.

He pulled his lips from her clit and kissed the inside of her thigh with care.

“Come,” he said. 

She shattered.


	15. Choices (SS/HG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus can't stop staring at Hermione's arse.
> 
> Prompted by GM Gaby; "Don't Look At Me Like That" - Young Severus and Hermione

“Don’t look at me like that!” Hermione snapped, dirt-covered hands on her hips as she stared at Severus with mild irritation in her honeyed gaze. 

“Like what?” he asked absently, his eyes still glued to those teeny tiny blue jean shorts wrapped around her thighs. Summer had blossomed in England for the first time since the witch had managed to crash her way back through time to land at his feet and while Severus was not ignorant of muggle fashions, he’d certainly never had cause to appreciate them so. The shorts were cut so they wrapped just under the curve of her arse and tucked between her thighs and made him wonder if the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs was the same mahogany as the unruly bird's nest that constantly floated around her head or if it was darker. 

Pressing her hand over her eyes, Hermione sighed, “Like I’m a piece of meat, Severus.” 

Severus’ dark eyes snapped up from where he was oogling her thighs and he looked at her, his lips curved up in a slight sheepish smile. “You resemble neither raw nor roasted provisions, Hermione.” 

Raising a brow, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

“And I maintain that I was not viewing you in any way other than is typical,” he added quickly, tacking on a “you insufferable witch” at the end for good measure. 

_ Liar. _

She brushed the dirt from her hands. “Mmhmm,” she hummed with a roll of her eyes, turning around to one of the plants in the humid greenhouse while Severus carefully trimmed one on the workbench, the sleeves of his white oxford rolled to avoid soiling them at all cost. 

They were complete opposites. She was entirely too cheerful and he too pragmatic, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the witch from the future who would tell him absolutely nothing of his fate. He hated when she looked at him with a sort of sadness in her eyes, as though she knew him in the future, but she never said as much. 

Their friendship had formed slowly over the year and on most days he found her completely insufferable. She was too smart for her own good and her incessant hand waving made him want to hex her. But she was kind and fierce. She’d sent a hex towards James Potter and Sirius Black in his defense on more than one occasion and they’d faced off against each other during Dueling Club more times than he could count, but she always managed to surprise him. When she wasn’t being a complete swot, Severus admired her intelligence, eagerly engaging her in debate when they studied together in the library. 

But Merlin, when she bent over in those tiny shorts to repot the large bush, his sixteen-year-old brain stopped working. He couldn’t have verbally sparred with her even if he wanted to. It was only when he nearly sliced his finger open with the shears that he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand and not at Hermione’s arse. 

Exams were over and they’d volunteered to help Professor Sprout with a few extra tasks in the greenhouses while they waited for the end of term to come about. With only a week left of school, Severus knew he would miss the infuriating witch and wondered exactly what would happen to her when term ended.

“What will happen to you come summer?” he asked, trimming another leaf from the tiny plant. 

Hermione brushed her hands off on her shorts, streaking her thighs with soil before wiping sweat from her brow. “Professor Dumbledore set me up with a part-time job at The Three Broomsticks, so I expect I’ll be waiting tables and slinging butterbeers. You’re going home, I take it?” 

Severus nodded, trying to avert his eyes from the way the lines of soil curved around her thighs. “Yeah, don’t have much choice.” 

Hermione crossed the short space with such determination that it nearly made Severus’ heart pound. She removed the pruning shears from his hand and wrapped her small fingers around his palm. When she leveled her gaze on him, Severus was overcome by the intensity. No one had ever looked at him with such passion in their eyes before. 

“You always have a choice.” 


	16. Secrets (DM/HG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Jamie Michelle Mitchell; "Tell Me a Secret". Late night studying leads to an unexpected exchange of secrets.

Hermione pushed the Charms book away from her, carefully marking the page with a scrap of parchment. They had been studying for hours for their NEWTs and Hermione felt like her eyes might go cross eyed if she read anything else. If there was one thing she had learned coming back for her eighth year, it was that she didn’t need to study from dawn until dusk to excel in her classes. 

Surprisingly, it had been Draco who taught her that lesson. When the eighth years had all been given their own dorm and they were no longer separated by their respective houses, friendships formed between the survivors of the war. 

At first, they quarreled, mostly over her study habits and spreading out everything on the one table in their small common room. Eventually, when she made space for him, Hermione found him to be a companionable study partner. When he apologized for being an arse to her in school, they began a tentative friendship. 

With Harry off training to be an auror, Draco had almost filled that role for her. He’d become a close friend and confidant. She’d found his dry wit endearing and his intelligence exciting. She fancied herself half in-love with him, but she’d never acted on it. It was well known that he was betrothed to Astoria Greengrass and the ostentatious emerald wrapped around her finger was all the proof Hermione needed. The story had been in the papers ages ago, but it wasn’t something she and Draco talked about. 

With her Charms book pushed to the edge of her grasp, she slid down the sofa and settled her head in Draco’s lap. His fingers threaded through her curls but he made no move to put his Transfiguration text down. 

Hermione yawned, eyes trained on the dying fire in the common room as she curled up further on the sofa. “I’m so tired.” 

“Go get some rest,” Draco said, briefly turning his attention away from his book to smile down at her. “You look like hell, Granger.” 

“Rude,” she chided, though the smile didn’t leave her face as she turned away from the light of the fire. 

Draco chuckled, snapping his book closed. “If you fall asleep here you won’t be rested for the first set of examinations tomorrow.” 

The way his fingers carded through her hair felt like heaven. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing slowed. “I’m comfortable here,” she muttered. 

Draco couldn’t help but think about how lovely she looked, even with the frizzy curls surrounding her face, the ink stains on her fingers, and the darkening circles under her eyes. Somehow, both suited her. 

They’d been dancing around each other all year and he was done for. She’d managed to creep into his veins like some slow acting poison and capture his heart. It had happened ages ago and at the time, all he could think about was how much time they had lost. He’d canceled the contract with Astoria months ago, but they hadn’t made a public announcement. 

Draco wasn’t certain what would happen when they graduated in a few short weeks, but he knew that he wanted to keep her for himself. 

He watched her as she dozed in his lap, gently tracing the curves of her face with the tips of his fingers. She stirred slightly when his fingers grazed her lips. 

“Tell me a secret, Granger,” he whispered. 

She hummed a little noise and her eyelids fluttered. Her voice sounded slurred with sleep. “You never tell yours.” 

“I’m feeling generous,” he said, wrapping one hand around hers and threading their fingers together. “A secret for a secret.” 

Hermione yawned and snuggled closer in her drowsy state. “Slytherin,” she said, her breath warming his skin through his shirt as she nuzzled her face against his abdomen. 

He chuckled quietly. “Tell me a secret, Granger.” 

She didn’t respond, her chest rising and falling with soft, sleepy breaths. After several minutes of watching the sleeping witch, Draco quietly maneuvered them so he could cradle her in his arms, rising with the intent on carrying her back to her room. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d needed to deposit her in her own bed after they’d studied together. 

“I love you.” 

The words were spoken so softly, he’d almost missed them but they stopped Draco in his tracks. His body weight came to rest against the door to his room and the door opened with a snick at his presence. 

He’d expected anything other than those three words. When he chanced a glance down at her, she was asleep again. He carefully moved through the frame and settled Hermione onto his own bed. He couldn’t let her go, not now. Not without knowing if she’d meant what she said. Not without knowing if there was a chance for them to  _ be something _ after they graduated. 

She’d probably be angry with him when they woke, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that she curled into him when he pulled her closer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, melting with the feel of the softness of her skin against his lips, his arms tightening around her. 

“I love you too,” he whispered. 


	17. Damned Creatures (LL/SS/LM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is fed up with Luna and her damned creatures. 
> 
> Prompt: "Magical Creatures" from The Restricted Section (Multi+Triads Only)

Severus was exasperated. 

If Luna brought home one more magical creature, he was going to turn the wide-eyed witch over his knee and redden her bottom until she agreed to send each and every one of them back out into the wild. 

He nearly had kittens when she’d come into his lab with a murtlap cuddled up in her arms, stroking it’s bare, wrinkly skin like it was made of the softest acromantula silk. She’d tried to hand it to home and in the failed transfer, it knocked over three vials of precious potions ingredients and he’d ordered the two of them out. 

“He didn’t mean it, Severus. There’s no need to be frighted of the little thing. He was just so curious about the colors.” 

Colors.

Frightened.

Ridiculous witch. 

And Lucius! The infernal man indulged her to the point of encouragement. Severus was nearly certain that if he made the trek past the greenhouses, he’d find a menagerie being built by a small team of house-elves. 

She’d come home yesterday with a bowtruckle clinging to her headband and a crup trailing along behind her. The day before, it had been a pair of mated golden snidgets flitting along behind her and chirping away incessantly. What would be next? A demiguise? A graphorn? A niffler?

Merlin, that was the last thing they needed. A niffler rummaging around all of the priceless artifacts that Lucius had decided to put on display in the east wing. His hard work would be dismantled in a week and the niffler would be fourteen times it’s original size for trying to stuff all of the priceless jewels and ancient monies in its pouch. 

In truth, they didn’t need any of the animals she brought home. 

And as much as it exasperated him, he knew how much she adored the creatures she found, always proud to show them off and keeping them close. They seemed to simply follow her home as if they were bound by an affinity. At the very least, if she was distracted by the creatures she wasn’t spouting off non-sense about wrackspurts. The day she actually produced a wrackspurt would be the day Severus would eat one of his dragonhide boots. 

It was another thing Lucius indulged her in. Always fawning over her mythical nargles and wrackspurts, and discussing the merits of gibbering humdingers and blathering plimpies or whatever other nonsense she came up with. 

Severus adored the witch. She possessed an ethereal beauty and was incredibly perceptive. She’d never outright spouted off a prophecy, but it was the little things she said from day to day that made him wonder if she might be a seer, or perhaps exceptionally skilled at Divination. But if she was, or if she did, she never truly let on. 

But he would be damned if he didn’t make good on his threat if one more damned magical creature crossed the threshold of their home and found it’s way into their bedroom or his potions lab. 


	18. Exhibitionism (F/M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blows of the crop left a delicious sting as they rained over her backside and her breasts. But it wasn’t that. She could feel them as they watched.
> 
> Prompt: Exhibitionism from Kinks of Knockturn Alley (Facebook Group)

She lived for this. Fucking lived for it. 

These Saturday nights are what got her through the week as she sat in a tiny cubicle in the bowels of the Ministry. 

Her hands were bound above her head with soft linen rope that bit into her wrists in a delicious way without hindering her circulation. A spreader bar held her feet apart and she could feel the drip of her slick as it trailed from her cunt to coat her thighs. And it was all because of where she was. The blows of the crop left a delicious sting as they rained over her backside and her breasts.

But it wasn’t that. 

She could feel them as they watched. The small crowd in front of the equally small stage, that simply watched, discussed, and sipped their flavored waters and sparkling wines. She could hear their whispers of the performance taking place between the blows, and her body flushed with need. Her hips rocked, seeking any form of pressure to ease the fire that burned in her belly, but none was found. 

A dark chuckle vibrated against her ear. 

He knew. 

And he wouldn’t stop until she came undone. He would work her up to the point of bursting and back off once more. Then he would do it again. It was a delicate dance between the two of them, completely in sync and to their own, perfect rhythm. 

And she would shatter for him, for them, when he deemed it so.


	19. Good Girl (HG/AW/AM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She calls one Sir and one Daddy and knows that if she ever makes it back to the future, she'll never be able to look them in the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Talk Tuesday's post in which I managed to ask if X was with two men, who would she call Daddy and who would she call Sir? Well, someone suggested Arthur for Daddy and my depraved mind managed to come up with Alastor all on my own. So, heaven help us, here we are.

Fuck. 

She shouldn’t be here. 

This was all a giant mistake and what if time was linear and not cyclical? Her entire presence in the past right now could completely screw up the future. She’d already been here for months with no conceivable way home, sorted back into Gryffindor and nearly immediately set upon by two men she held great respect for in the future.

They’d approached her like a pair of hungry wolves and while she might have expected it from the tall, broad-shouldered, semi-paranoid wizard with aspirations to be an Auror, she never expected it from the tall and lean, sweet, ginger-haired wizard who was a bit too obsessed with muggle gadgets. 

But goodness gracious, her knickers were soaked every time Alastor and Arthur opened their mouths. And it wasn’t just that their voices were so deep or low that they induced a fresh wave of slick to trickle from her cunt. Oh no. It was the criminal amount of filthy things they said to her when they managed to get her alone. It wouldn’t have been nearly as effective were it only one of them at a time - that, she might have been able to resist. But the two of them together? Hermione was powerless. 

It was why she was on her knees in an abandoned classroom with Alastor’s cock buried down her throat and Arthur gently stroking her curls and cooing in her ear about how good she was. 

“That’s it love, relax your throat. Be a good girl for Al,” Arthur crooned, one long-fingered hand settled against her throat and the other rolling one of her nipples between his fingers. With her back to his chest, Hermione could feel his throbbing erection as it pressed against her arse. 

It was easy to see how Molly had seven children if Arthur was like this. Gods, she was going to hell for fucking her future boyfriend’s father if she ever made it back to the present and could actually look Arthur in the eye, no less Alastor. How could she ever be in the grizzled Auror’s presence knowing exactly how each ridge of his cock felt as it slid against her tongue? Not to mention how she had nearly memorized the prints of Arthur’s fingers as they pressed hungrily into her skin.

Her throat finally relaxed and Alastor slid home, cutting off her air supply with a satisfied groan. Thick fingers fisted her curls and held her in place. “Fuck, witch,” he moaned, rotating his hips as she gagged around him. Behind her, Arthur rubbed soft circles along the column of her throat as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her knickers. Fingers found her clit and she moaned, low and needy. 

Gods, she really was every dirty name she let Alastor call her in private. 

Hermione gasped for air when Alastor finally pulled back. She would’ve fallen forward were it not for Arthur’s strong grip on her waist. 

“What do you say to Al, sweetheart?” Arthur licked a trail along the column of her throat to press a sweet, yet horribly suggestive kiss against her cheek. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she muttered quietly, a dark blush staining her cheeks as that last word slipped off of her tongue.

“So pretty,” Arthur cooed, brushing her reddened cheek with his hand. “Take your knickers off for Daddy.” 

Hermione whimpered, her entire body flushing as she removed her knickers with trembling hands as Arthur helped her stay balanced. They were soaked through but she handed them over, placing them in Alastor’s hand. The grin that spread across his lips was nearly feral as he pressed the wet gusset to his nose and inhaled. 

Hermione thought she might die of mortification but all thoughts were driven from her brain when Arthur parted her folds and sheathed himself with her. He met no resistance and the squelching noises coming from her cunt bordered on obscene as he rocked within her. 

“Open up, dirty girl,” Alastor commanded, thick fingers fisting his cock as he tucked her knickers into his pocket. The grin on his mouth grew wider as he dragged the head of his cock along her cheek, smearing it with tiny droplets of pre-cum before slipping back her lips once more. 

Between the way Arthur was whispering praises in her ear while he fucked her mercilessly and Alastor’s cock stealing her breath once more, Hermione was near incoherent. Never had she imagined that sex could be anything like this, but these two brought out something wild from within her and she would say, “Yes, Sir!” and “Thank you, Daddy!” if it meant they would fuck her like this. 

The sun was starting to set and Hermione had no idea how long they’d been laying in a tangled heap. She was tucked against Alastor’s chest with unknown amount of their combined fluids coating her thighs and her cheeks, as Arthur and Alastor shared lazy kisses above her head. 

“You can’t go back, Princess,” Arthur whispered against the shell of her ear.

Hermione sighed, they’d had this conversation a dozen times over the last month. “You’re meant for someone else, Daddy.” The word rolled off of her tongue in her sleepy haze. It was a wonder she hadn’t slipped and accidentally called him that during one of their shared classes, or worse, in front of Molly. Sweet, bubbly Molly whom she knew would be a wonderful wife for him.

“No, my girl,” Alastor said, crooking a finger beneath her chin to force her gaze to his. “We’re yours and you’re ours, simple as that. None of this going back to the future talk.” 

Hermione nodded, knowing they were just pretty words. She’d have to go back at some point, right? She couldn’t stay here in the past, have her cake and eat it too? This was temporary and when she made it back to her own time, she’d have to face these two men, much older than she and desperately try not to blush when she saw them again. 

She settled her head back on Alastor’s chest as Arthur curled his body around her from behind, arm draped over the two of them. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

  
  
  
  



	20. Honeydukes (HA/DM/NL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Honeydukes; Hannah takes her children to the sweet shoppe in Hogsmeade to pick up some sweets for their fathers.

“Mum! Can I have some sugar quills?” 

“No! Let’s get pepper imps.” 

“Absolutely not. I’ve been dying for some chocolate frogs.” 

Hannah laughed, shuffling her small brood through the sweet shoppe in Hogsmeade. The three children held their hands closely at their sides so as not to grab at each confection in the shoppe, though the youngest’s could be seen twitching as they passed the bins of Bertie Bott’s. 

“We’re here to get something for your fathers before we meet him for lunch.”

Term had been in session for two weeks now, which meant Hannah’s husbands spent the majority of their day at Hogwarts instilling knowledge into the future generations while she was left to care for their three children, aged nine, seven, and four. It hadn’t been an easy transition when Draco was offered the position of Potion’s Master and with Neville already firmly set in his role as the professor of Herbology and head of Gryffindor house, she’d been very used to having Draco around more often to help with the children. 

Both men made it a point to be home on the weekends as much as possible and Hannah and the children made trips to the castle often. They made it work and while Hannah would have liked to have both of her husbands around more often, especially for the children, she knew that in a few short years, their eldest would be spending the majority of her time with her fathers when she got her Hogwarts letter. 

“Mum! Look! Dad’s card is on display,” her eldest said, and when Hannah turned her head towards the display of chocolate frogs, the enlarged portrait of Neville he’d chosen for his own chocolate frog card was smiling at her and waving fondly. 

The middle child looked confused, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he clearly tried to work out something while the youngest was hopping around the display, pretending to be a frog while Hannah shifted a few of the confections into her handbasket. 

“Mum… why don’t you have a chocolate frog card? Father and dad both have one.” 

Hannah drew a deep breath. She didn’t like thinking about the war, especially not what her two men were put through during their time in school. She’d had it relatively easy, especially in comparison to them, but Draco still had nightmares and there was little she could do to comfort him, simply because she hadn’t lived it. 

“Your dads were both heroes. Grammy and Grandad sent me and your aunt to a different school when everything bad happened. Only heroes and important people get their picture on chocolate frog cards.” 

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder and another swept her back into an embrace. Strong arms wrapped around her and a kiss was pressed to her dark blonde curls while another set of lips pecked her cheek. “You are important.” 

“The best there is.” 


	21. Why is it Purple? (PP/DM/HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Why is it Purple from The Restricted Section's "Write it Wednesday" Facebook Post; Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence (Not from the Triad involved)

She apparated on the spot the moment the blow landed. They’d tried to make it work for the past year—marriage counseling, taking more time for themselves, spending more time together, discussing whether or not having a child might help. None of it worked. They still argued. They still screamed at each other. And then he hit her. 

And she was gone, landing with ease on the steps of Grimmauld Place before thrusting open the door and marching straight to the liquor cabinet. The exclamations of pleas of Harry and Draco at her sudden appearance falling on deaf ears. She swatted their hands away when they tried to examine the bruise forming around her eye so she could open the bottle of rum and down a good sixth of the bottle, muttering obscenities about “good for nothing husbands” and “bottles being sealed too fucking tight.” 

She explained everything, in time, as her head rested in Draco’s lap and her feet in Harry’s. They passed concerned looks back and forth between them as Pansy continued to drink directly from the bottle (⅓ gone now), her words becoming more slurred and lazy as the alcohol burned the rage from her veins until she was practically purring from the combined effects of the rum and the way Draco’s fingers felt as they massaged her scalp. 

One of Draco’s knuckles lightly brushed over Pansy’s brow, “Why is it purple?” 

Pansy’s eyes fluttered open as she struggled to focus on Draco’s face. Her nose and brow wrinkled and she winced, smoothing her features so she wouldn’t have to feel the blow of the bruise forming around her eye that she’d yet to do anything about. “You’re a healer, Draco Malfoy. You tell me.” 

Harry’s thumb dug into the curve of her ankle and she couldn’t stop the moan escaping from her lips. She couldn’t see the amused smile playing on his lips. 

“I honestly don’t have an explanation, Pans. I could speculate, I suppose… but it could be any number of things.”

She attempted to sit up, elbows pressing into the plush cushions of the sofa, but immediately dropped back down. “You mean to tell me with your fancy muggle degrees and your healer training that you don’t know why bruises turn purple?” 

Draco shook his head and laughed, tapping the tip of Pansy’s nose. “Fuck, Pansy. Of course, I know that.” 

“Then wh—

“He means your hair, sweetheart. It’s turned a rather pretty shade of purple,” Harry said, the fingertips of one hand skating soothingly over Pansy’s shins and ankles while his other was clasped with Draco’s on the back of the sofa. “I think that particular bottle was a Yule present from George a few years back.”

She was off the sofa in an instant, running towards the nearest bathroom. Trembling fingers touched her violet hair, not even worried about the dark bruise around her eye. She screamed. 

She was quickly gathered in an embrace between the two men, soothing words whispered and gentle kisses chastely placed when the dam finally broke on the tears she had so desperately held back. She couldn’t cry for her failed marriage and miserable pig of a husband… but she could cry for her hair. 


End file.
